


The Concept of Sexuality According To Mark Renton

by Bellelaide



Category: Trainspotting, Trainspotting (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Discussions of sexuality, Edinburgh, M/M, Teasing, trainspotting - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: Renton's fed up of Sick Boy winding him up because he gets with men sometimes - so he decides to even the playing field





	The Concept of Sexuality According To Mark Renton

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of me finishing uni and being very very bored. Thanks for reading my nonsense ideas about these two!

The plans had been in place for months. 

They were going to rob the Edinburgh University Graduation Ball blind, on the grounds that the event would be packed with rich kids who wouldn't miss a few bob but which would be very well spent in their own pockets. 

Begbie had been the one to put the plans to them - he'd been thinking about it for a while, he said. It was perfect because the posh twats were leaving Edinburgh soon after the ball; the security in the SU was pish and they'd all be three sheets to the wind celebrating anyway. 

Spud wasn't invited as there was no chance anyone would believe he was a university graduate, so he'd been tasked with sitting in a car at the back of the student union where the Ball was to be held, waiting to get the boys out of there quickly and efficiently. 

He'd asked Tommy and Renton first. Tommy had been unsure at first because this was different to housebreaking; that was done in hats and under darkness and to specially targetted houses but this was face to face and required acting and seemed a bit risky. Renton had laughed and said he was keen as fuck and told Tommy to stop being a fucking shite bag, so Tommy had shut up and grudgingly agreed. 

Begbie told Renton to ask Sick Boy when he saw him and he had done just that, Sick Boy thrilled at the chance to pull some posh birds whilst he was at it. The plan was in motion after that - they'd rent expensive suits, break into the function through a kitchen staff connection of Begbie's, pick pocket their way around the SU then head back down to Leith in Spud's getaway car. 

Renton was gearing himself up in his room the night of the plan, somewhat excited to insert himself into intellectual conversations with mugs who had no idea that he and his schemie mates from Leith were rinsing them behind their backs. 

He was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt and a navy tie, which wasn't the best choice of colour given his red hair but was the only thing the suit place had at such short notice in his size. He looked alright actually - his shoes were his own and were a bit scruffy but he'd coloured the scuffs in with black pen so they'd probably be fine. Students were scruffy anyway, mostly - granted, the ones from Edinburgh were all rich, but he could easily claim he was one of those widening access kids. 

Sick Boy was next door talking to himself in that fucking Sean Connery voice he did. They were getting picked up in 10 minutes by the rest of the guys, so Renton ran his fingers through his hair one last time and stepped into the hall, chapping his knuckles on Sick Boy's closed door. 

His voice came to a halt and the door opened a second later, Renton's stomach stirring at the sight of Sick Boy in his black suit, perfect fitting, elegant with a bow tie - he looked, predictably, sensational. Renton'd always had a thing for men in formal wear, alright - so sue him. 

"Looking dapper Rent Boy." Sick Boy grinned at Renton, leaning on the door frame with one shoulder. "Finally getting to go to a grad ball and all, after ye fucked up Aiberdeen." 

"Fuck off. You thought ae a cover story?" 

"Course a huv. Ma name's Sean, obvioushly, an av just graduated fae ma medicine degree." 

Renton scowled. "Medicine degrees take aboot 8 year. Ye'd no be at a fuckin 4 year undergrad shindig." 

Sick Boy rolled his eyes and pushed past Renton, flicking on the bathroom light and taking another long look at himself in the toothpaste flecked mirror. "Semantics. Nae one's gonny gee a fuck how long av been at uni." 

"Dunno Si, they might when they realise aw their wallets are missin n they think hawd on a second - wit aboot that Scottish cunt naeone's seen before who finished a medical degree quicker than Florence fuckin Nightingale?" 

Sick Boy dragged his eyes away from his reflection to look at Renton. "Alright then, fuckin fun sponge. Av got an archaeology degree. Does that suffice?" 

"It's better, aye." 

Sick Boy turned the light off and strolled back into the hall, facing Renton. "And what's your back story?" 

"Terry. History degree. Stick as close tae the truth as possible, canny fuck up. Thought ye'd ken that wae aw the spy pish ye watch." 

Sick Boy laughed. "A watch that fur the techniques wae the ladies, Rents, no fur grifting skills. You're awfy crabby the night," he leant down, his eyes sparkling, and breathed into Renton's face, "Ye horny?" 

Renton's cheeks heat up and he went to protest but was interrupted by the sound of the intercom buzzing, alerting them to the presence of the boys downstairs. 

Sick Boy winked at Renton, grin spreading across his face, and made his way to the door. Renton gathered his thoughts and followed, mentally prepping himself for the task ahead and for sitting in a car driven by Daniel fucking Murphy. 

Begbie was wearing a kilt, which no one expected, and Tommy a linen suit which didn't look as terrible as anyone would've thought. Begbie was going to claim he had just finished a degree in Law because according to him he could argue his way out of anything, and Tommy a Physical Education degree. Sick Boy shared round a wrap of ching which they all took a bit from in order to get a bit of the old courage flowing. Spud was indignant that he wasn't offered any but when Begbie told him to shut the fuck up as he couldn't drive at the best of times, let alone high, he piped down. 

Sick Boy was well aware he wound Renton up when he teased him like he'd just done in the flat. He found it funny actually, and did it as often as he could. He'd walked in on Renton giving some guy a blow job down at Matty's in London a while ago and had loved it, loved knowing that Renton could potentially be as susceptible to his charms as any woman in Edinburgh. 

Renton was sat in the middle of Tommy and Sick Boy, him being the smallest, and he was acutely aware of how strong Sick Boy's thighs looked in his suit trousers, the bones of his knees visible through the black fabric. He sat in his seat same way he always did - legs spread, personality as well as physical form taking up far too much room in the car, and Renton was irked at how it affected him. 

Renton thought about the casual manner in which Sick Boy spoke over his head at Tommy and Begbie, thigh pressing against Renton's, arm slung over the back of Renton's seat behind him. On Renton's other side Tommy was pressed against him too, but it didn't feel imposing or heated - it was just that this was a small car and he was a big lad. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Begbie's booming voice. "You fuckin listenin Rentboy?" 

"Sorry Franco. What were ye sayin?" 

"Am tellin ye now Mark, fuckin nane ae yer pish the night. Nae zonin oot n actin the fuckin goat. We get caught am fuckin blamin you." Begbie hissed, pointing in Renton's face. 

"Woa Franco, it's alright man. Rents is just thinkin ae aw the fanny he canny get, ae?" Sick Boy cut in, nudging Renton and smirking playfully. Renton rolled his eyes. 

"Am sorry Frank. Won't happen again." 

"Better no fuckin happen again. A wis sayin, go fur wallets, cash, ID we kin take oot small loans n that wae in their posh fuckin names. If ye kin get jewellery or watches dae it but only on the proper pished cunts. In n oot, nae dilly dallying - am talkin tae you Sick Boy. Nae birds. Just get fuckin in n oot. Spud'll be leavin at 11:30 on the fuckin dot n if yer no there ye kin fuckin walk hame." he lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. "And if ye get caught, it goes withoot fuckin sayin, ye dinny grass. Or al fuckin bury ye." 

They nodded their understanding and the rest of the journey was carried out in silence, Spud somehow managing to get them to Teviot, the SU, without any significant hitches. 

As planned Begbie's associate was loitering around the back of the venue, and he ushered them in through the kitchen and into the party itself. Edinburgh's SU building was like a castle - it had literal turrets and inside it was plush, ostentatious, flashy - you could practically see the pound signs jumping in Begbie's irises. 

The students were milling around holding champagne flutes in their groups, no one paying the boys much attention other than the odd lingering glance at Sick Boy. The goal was to stay on the outskirts of conversation and grab things stealthily, taking advantage of the fact that the free bar had been on for a few hours prior to their arrival. Save for a few bar staff there didn't seem to be much in the way of security and they split up, each taking a corner of the hall and working their way around quickly, the cheesy music being played only a little bit distracting. 

It was easy. Bags, jackets and belongings had been left at tables and slung over chairs, the trusting nature of the students in their fellow graduates a pick pocket's paradise. Half an hour in Renton had gained about £200, three driving licenses and a pocket watch, the buzz of each steal making him feel alive. He was about to start making his way back to the door when he overheard a conversation a group were having about the fluidity of sexuality. 

"I completely agree with you Tati! I thought I always was but I had a.... an experience, shall we say, in third year, and I see it differently now, absolutely. It's like a... a sliding scale. I don't think anyone is truly one way or the other." The group laughed, clambering over each other to get their own stories in. 

"Sorry, a couldn't help but overhear your conversation there... wouldn't you say some people are definitively straight, some definitively gay? Could you assume an openly gay man would ever want to be with a woman?" Renton knew he shouldn't be engaging in conversation with anyone, it made him far more memorable - but he had never properly considered sexuality in this way; that it might apply to everyone and not just people like him. 

"Well, it certainly is hard to assume... I just finished my dissertation on this and I found that of the people I interviewed, 97% of them would consider it at least - I think it comes down to the notion that you never know who you're going to meet. What's your name by the way? I'm Francis." The girl held out a hand towards Renton, the diamonds on her neck glinting in the soft light of the room. 

Renton shook her hand and willed himself into his Edinburgh uni persona. "Terry. That's interesting, Francis, but..." he looked over to where Sick Boy was holding court with two graduates in ball gowns, his body language exuding confidence and sexual certainty. "I've got a friend, he's as straight as anything you've ever seen - the idea of him with a man seems almost absurd." 

The group considered this. "I would go as far to say," one of them piped up, "that some people appear so strongly as one end of the spectrum that they're an inch away from coming full circle. Does that make sense? Being so adamantly straight that you're probably not far from getting with the same sex too?" 

Some murmured their agreement, whilst another scoffed. "That doesn't make any sense William. Surely either you're able to slide up and down the scale or you're not? I wouldn't say there's anything as drastic as being so straight you're gay." 

"That's exactly what I'm saying though Bea - it slides from one end to the other sometimes, not necessarily from the middle outwards - does that make sense, Terry?" 

It took Renton a second to realise William was talking to him, and he nodded enthusiastically despite the fact that none of them made any sense whatsofuckingever. It was typical student, to stand in a circle and talk self congratulating nonsense - but he was interested in the idea that people, all people, could slide and that maybe he'd be able to knock the smirk off Sick Boy's face. 

If he could get Sick Boy to get with him, he'd not be able to wind him up and tease him anymore. Plus, it'd be nice, probably. He was going to - 

"Terry? Are you alright?" 

Renton snapped back to the conversation, the group staring at him. 

"We were asking where you're from?" 

"Sorry, sorry. Dundee. I'm from Dundee, originally. Listen, I've got to go just now, but that was interesting - have a good night, eh?" 

Renton turned and walked away from the group, ideas swirling through his brain, growing arms and legs. He checked his watch: they had fifteen minutes before Spud was scheduled to leave. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and took stock of Begbie, who was subtly rooting through a clutch bag at a table which had been abandoned in favour of the makeshift dance floor; Tommy hovering in the doorway checking his watch; Sick Boy charming those women with a glass of champagne in one hand, the other brushing the taller of the pair's arm. 

Renton approached Tommy, a slight nod of his head implying he was done for the night. "Alright mate?" 

"This is fuckin risky, Rents. A need tae get the fuck out ae here man!" He hissed, his nerves palpable. 

"Aye Tommy, we're going, relax or you'll draw attention tae us. We canny go anywhere without Beggars, he'll dae his fuckin dinger." 

"A know that... a just fuckin hate this shit. Dunno why a agreed tae it." 

"Here, Tommy... dae ye hink Sick Boy wid ever go wae a man?" 

Tommy looked at him sidelong. "Wit, go gay?" 

"No necessarily... but well aye, a suppose so." 

"No fuckin chance Rents. Look at um! Why ye askin that like?" 

"No reason man, just havin a chat wae some students there aboot sexuality. Wondered if the likes ae Sick Boy could ever go doon that road. Its nout, ignore me." 

"Are ye sayin you could like? Am confused Mark," Tommy frowned at him, the cogs turning. Renton was about to back track when Begbie approached, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"Av just hit the fuckin mother load. Let's get the fuck out ae here." 

They looked back at Sick Boy, who was obviously not aware of the time nor his surroundings. They nominated Tommy to fetch him and Renton and Begbie made their way back towards the kitchens, jogging the last few metres to the waiting car. 

"Welcome back catboys!" 

"Fuck up and get that fuckin engine on Spud!" Begbie roared, looking at the door and his watch frantically. "If they're no here in thirty fuckin seconds am away! Fuck this!" 

"They'll be here Frank," Renton tried to sooth, and thankfully seconds later Tommy and Sick Boy sprinted towards the car, falling into the back seat and hardly getting the door closed before Spud was hitting the accelerator. 

"That was fucking amazing!" Sick Boy shouted, wrapping an arm around Renton's neck and planting a sloppy kiss to his forehead. "What a fuckin rush!" 

"Shut the fuck up. Wit did yees make?!" Begbie demanded, and they took stock of their spoils - Begbie had managed to take the most, to no one's surprise, and Sick Boy had taken the least but was pleased anyway with the phone numbers he'd acquired. 

"Ye canny phone they birds ya daft cunt. Don't be so fuckin stupid. Cunts'll trace it back tae us when they realise they've been done." 

Sick Boy rolled his eyes. "Aye, right enough Franco." He looked at Renton and smirked before turning to Tommy and winding him up about being so nervous. Renton thrummed with anticipation, formulating how to go about proving his new hypotheses - it wouldn't be easy, and could go south pretty fast - but Renton was intrigued now, and increasingly determined. 

"Pub then lads? This is worth fuckin celebrating. Fuckin knew ad pull this aff." Begbie was lighting a celebratory cigarette in the front, finally unwinding as much as was characteristic for Frank. 

"No for me, Franco. Got plans." Renton said. 

"Shiting cunt. Tommy? Sick Boy?" 

"Aye Frank, al come for a few. Ye comin Spud?" 

"Aye Tommy man!" 

"Am busy n all, boys, hate tae say it. Got a wee chicky to see tae." 

Renton's stomach dropped at that, stupidly enough. Spud let them out at their flat and they said their goodbyes, both equally glad to be out of Frank's company. 

Sick Boy took out his keys and let them into the stair way, holding the door open for Renton who slid past him and made his way to the flat. 

"Different breed they uni cunts, ae?" He said tentatively, considering the likelihood of having Sick Boy stay in tonight so he could put the adrenalin in his system to good use. 

"Posh fanny is fuckin top drawer shit, Rents," Sick Boy replied. 

"Ken a wis havin a conversation wae some ae them, n they were talkin aboot, like, girls n guys and girls n girls and guys n guys n sayin we're aw a bit gay." He tried to say it with purpose but couldn't help the way his voice wavered a bit. 

"Explains you then," Sick Boy grinned, leaning over Renton to put the key in their flat door. 

Renton sighed. "Aye, mibby. But mibby it explains other folk too." He followed Sick Boy into the living room, where he collapsed onto their sofa, fumbling for a cigarette and lighting it one handed. "Might even include the likes ae you." Renton breathed, standing in front of Sick Boy and suddenly feeling confident, like he needed this vindication more than he'd ever needed anything. 

Sick Boy took a long draw of his cigarette and looked Renton up and down, painstakingly slowly. "And what do you think?" 

Renton swallowed. "Think you're not as black and white as ye make out. Think a could prove it." 

Sick Boy planted both feet firmly on the floor, placed his cigarette in his mouth and opened his arms in a 'come ahead' manner. Renton's eyes closed on reflex, his breath coming heavily through his nose. 

Renton shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it carefully over the closest piece of furniture, rolling his shoulders, his neck. He walked round to the front of the coffee table and sat on its edge, his knees inches from Sick Boy's, who was observing him with inscrutably dark eyes. 

Renton leaned forward and plucked the cigarette from Sick Boy's mouth, taking a draw before dropping it into their makeshift ash tray at the other end of the table. Sick Boy looked confident, cocky almost - certain in himself that he wouldn't be beaten in this field. Renton steeled himself. 

"Reckon you were jealous, Si, when you caught me wae that guy. Wondered why it wasn't you a was on ma knees for?" 

Sick Boy smirked and raised an eyebrow in reply. Renton brought his hands to his throat and began undoing his tie, pushing himself to keep going despite the voice in his head that had appeared, telling him this was futile. 

"Shouldny be too difficult to get you hard, Si. Fuckin game for it most ae the time, aren't ye? Right wee whore?" Renton slid his tie from around his neck and stretched it between his hands, the navy fabric sliding through his fingers. "Am gonny tie your hands back, so ye canny conceal nuhin when ye dae get hard. Gonny have you aw tied up nice n pretty, eh Si?" 

Sick Boy was grinning, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip. He presented his wrists to Renton who tutted and told him to stand facing the wall, allowing Renton to tie them behind his back. He did it nice and tight, but still loose enough so that he could get two fingers between the tie and Sick Boy's skin, not wanting to hurt him. When he sat back down Renton was sure Sick Boy's breaths were coming shallower now, his eyes a bit wider, pupils a bit more blown. It was the confidence boost he needed to start palming himself through his dress trousers, biting his lip and making sure his lashes were fanned against his cheeks, putting on the best show he could manage. 

"Get it up Simon, go on. You big enough to make me gag on it? Want to see ye straining against they fuckin trousers ye've got on." Renton could hardly believe the shite coming out his mouth but it was turning him on anyway, his own dick fattening up under his palm. Sick Boy only let out a deep breath, eyes never faltering, no sign of life in his trousers. Renton set his brow and undid his flies, stroking himself under his pants, putting his weight on his left arm behind him. 

"Feels fuckin barry havin you watch me. You wanted to watch me before Si? Wanted this before tonight? So fuckin slutty ye don't care who it is, just constantly desperate tae get yer hands on someone?" 

Sick Boy's eyes fluttered shut at that, and Renton clicked his fingers in his face, the way Sick Boy did to him when he was zoned out of whatever pish he was talking, and grabbed his chin, giving his head a little shake. "Eyes on me. Don't fuckin close them. Understand?" 

Sick Boy nodded in his grasp, his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back in reaction to the traitor feelings of arousal he felt winding their way from his brain, down his spine, to his groin. 

"Didny ken you were this filthy, Rents," Sick Boy breathed, subconsciously spreading his legs a little bit wider. "If only the lads could see you now, eh." 

Renton blushed then and took his hand out of his pants, coming instead to straddle Sick Boy's lap, a hand gripping his hair. He wasn't sure if this was crossing a line; if they'd maybe been joking up till now, but he put pressure from his crotch onto Sick Boy's and looked into his eyes. "Is this alright?" He asked gently, his cheeks pink. 

"Yes." Sick Boy got out, clearly concentrating on keeping it together, on stopping Renton from getting the better of him. "The stage is yours." His confidence had waned, it was clear in his voice, and Renton took it as a good sign and rolled his hips down again, and again, whining low in his throat on the third and - bingo. 

That was definitely, definitely a stirring in Sick Boy's pants. His eyes were squeezed shut and his breath was held and Renton's face broke into a huge grin, victory on the horizon. He put his hands either side of Sick Boy's face and met his eyes when he opened them, sending silent encouragement and only a little bit of smugness. 

"They uni wanks know their shit," Renton breathed, rolling down another time slowly, carefully. 

"Anycunt'd get hard if they had a lapful of horny little fuck rolling around on top ae them." Sick Boy replied, and Renton responded by climbing off him, choosing not to comment on the way Sick Boy's hips lifted in futile want. He sat back down on the other end of the sofa, palming himself a couple of times before reaching over and seeking consent to undo Sick Boy's flies and pull his cock from his trousers, letting it flop about awkwardly on full view. 

Renton sat with one leg pressed against the back of the couch, his other dangling down to the floor, and released his own cock, tugging it a few times and watching Sick Boy watch his hands, unable to touch himself or get relief of any sort. Renton moaned, not caring to censor himself, and his heart stopped when he saw Sick Boy's dick twitch out the corner of his eye. He relaxed and a few moments later moaned again, biting his tongue to keep from smiling when it jumped a second time. 

"Fuck sake Renton, don't wind me up. Untie ma hands, please. Ye've proved wit ye wanted to prove." 

Renton groaned deep in his throat, biting his lip, dirtily as he could, just to see Sick Boy's cock struggle. 

"Mark." Sick Boy put a bit of force behind it that time and Renton came forward, untying Sick Boy's hands with a tug on the end of the tie. Sick Boy flexed and rubbed at his wrists, pulling his own suit jacket off, before settling down again and palming himself casually. Renton never blinked, running his hand up and down his own length from his seat on the sofa. 

"Will it be enough then?" Sick Boy asked and Renton frowned. 

"What?" 

"Ma cock. Will it be enough tae choke ye dae ye think?" 

"Holy fuck, Si. Can a? Are ye sure?" 

"You fuckin caused it, you can deal wae it." 

Renton made his way across the couch and hovered between Sick Boy's legs, thinking of a plan of action and giving himself a pep talk - if this was shit, he'd never live it down. 

"Any time the night." 

Renton rolled his eyes and licked a stripe up Sick Boy's length, wasting no time in taking the head into his mouth and paying it the attention he liked himself before swallowing him down, taking pride in the way Sick Boy's voice rumbled in his chest. If Renton pressed his tongue to a specific point in Sick Boy's cock he could feel his pulse, jack hammering away under his skin, and Renton knew he should've been doing this months ago. It didn't take long for Sick Boy to take a fistful of Renton's hair and hold him in place, pumping his hips forward until Renton was gagging around him the way he'd wanted, and Sick Boy was pulling Renton off him, both of them breathing in a staccato rhythm. 

"Kin a come oan ye?" Sick Boy was hardly coherent, frantic even - Renton understood him though and got to his knees on the floor, wanking himself desperately whilst turning his face up to Sick Boy who was doing the same. It didn't take long before Renton was coming all over the floor and his own knees, Simon's name a gasp on his lips, and then Sick Boy was following suit, his come streaking Renton's torso, legs, even his face. 

He collapsed back down on the couch afterwards and they breathed in unison, coming down from the high of orgasm. Renton wiped his face on his sleeve, grimacing at the stringiness of the spunk. He fell back against the couch, next to Sick Boy's legs, and patted his foot. 

"One nil to me then, Si." He managed, post orgasm glow and satisfaction at being right making him feel on top of the world. 

"No quite. A only came on ye cos a knew that suit wis a rental." He ruffled Renton's hair patronisingly and got to his feet, grabbing his discarded jacket from the back of the couch. "Now if you'll excuse me, a really do have a bird to attend tae." 

He bounced out of the flat, leaving Renton sat in their combined come on the living room floor, flaccid penis looking somewhat sad where it lay hanging out of his now soiled trousers. 

Renton told himself a victory was a victory, no matter how small, and made a mental note to get Simon back, especially now that he knew the possibility of the ways in which he could.


End file.
